


Knights in Shining Armor

by tymbal



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, F/M, Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tymbal/pseuds/tymbal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malon/Zelda, OOT-based AU.  The king of Hyrule is holding a tournament for Princess Zelda's hand in marriage.  Malon is the only woman who enters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knights in Shining Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for looking at my humble fic. A bit of a heads up: This fic will be completed in 2015, but updates will be slow, probably about one a month. I'm certainly approaching this fic from a comfortable writing standpoint, so I thought it only fair that I'd give you the option to read comfortably as well. If you hate waiting on updates, this might be a good one to read when it's finished. Otherwise, venture forth! Hope you enjoy :)

Lon Lon Ranch was in trouble. That was the kind way that everybody seemed to put it when they dropped by. They would say to her father “I hear you’re in a bit of trouble, Talon,” to which he’d guffaw as if it were a great old joke instead of the truth. Trouble. Her father would tell her more and more often these days how great Lon Lon once was. An unbelievable number of horses, cows, employees, production. A genuine business which stretched across Hyrule Field nearly to Kakariko. Malon could hardly believe these stories. She was fourteen years old so believing her father was a feat in itself, but also they had only one cow, and an old mule which pulled their wagon into town. That was it. Trouble looked like a shabby little house with an empty horse pen and a single cow barn ready to collapse on itself at the next rain. Her father never told her what the real problems were, but Malon was as clever as she was nosy, and she knew what it meant when people murmured about debts under their breaths and even her father’s laughter couldn’t mask the anxiety.

Yes, Lon Lon Ranch was in trouble, but for the sake of her father, Malon went about each day as usual. She cleaned the house, she cleaned the barn, she milked the cow. It was steady, mindless work, but she rather enjoyed it in truth. It was something to hold on to when it seemed like everything around her was descending into chaos.

What does an old rancher and his teen daughter do when the ranch dies? Without any money? The possibilities were endless and unpleasant to Malon’s already overactive imagination…

It was in this climate that she first fell in love.

She was milking a cow, thoroughly unromantic work, with her bare hands slick with excess milk, tugging roughly at the cow’s teat. Malon had a certain system, a certain flick of the wrist, a knuckle-whitening squeeze, pressing her callused thumb just so. She didn’t have to worry about hurting the cow—it was a durable old thing, and mostly chewed cud morosely as Malon worked. Using gloves made the work clumsy and inexpert in Malon’s opinion, but it did leave her feeling rather gritty afterward. There was always milk on her hands and hay in her skirts when she was done.

This was how she looked, wiping a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist, getting some milk blotted at her temple anyway, when a visitor entered the barn uninvited. The visitor was a young girl, about Malon’s age, but certainly… shall we say, less gritty. She was wearing an expensive-looking dress in soft whites and pinks, with a plain but flattering necklace and shining rings clamped upon her tapering Hylian ears. Her hair was blond, held loosely in a pink shawl wrapped around the girl’s head, and her eyes were blue. Malon’s eyes were also blue, but not as blue. It seemed everything about this girl was vaguely like Malon but better.

“Oh my,” the rich girl said lightly, looking around the room as if it were some fascinating museum display. “It’s quite dark in here.”

Malon almost pointed out the window, but then she realized it was coated in a layer of dust which darkened the sunlight straining in. Malon had neglected to clean it. Damn. Instead Malon just shrugged, pretending to be very engrossed in her work. She felt her cheeks and the back of her neck growing hot. She felt like an attraction at a zoo for this rich wanderer.

The rich girl, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying herself. She came forward, her hands clasped in front of her, and approached the cow stall.

“May I?” she asked, tentatively reaching out a hand toward the cow’s snout.

Malon raised an eyebrow, giving her a quick ‘Are you kidding me?’ look out of the corner of her eye, which was a lot less subtle than she had intended. Nevertheless, she nodded. The rich girl made a small gasp of pleasure and petted the cow’s nose.

“It’s rougher than I expected,” she said. “But not much different than a horse. Do you have any horses here?”

“No,” Malon said sharply.

“Oh.” The rich girl’s smile faltered. “Well. I hear you have the best milk in Hyrule.”

“That we do,” said Malon, glancing down at the bucket between her legs. It was only about a third full. It seemed like they were getting less and less out of this cow as it got older…

Remembering her salesmanship, Malon added, “If you’d like to buy a bottle, my father Talon handles sales in the house.” She might as well have been saying Go Away.

But the rich girl didn’t take the hint. “Can I help?” she asked. “I’ve never milked a cow before.”

“Then you wouldn’t be much help, would you?” said Malon, before she could stop herself. Like this rich girl cared at all what happened at Lon Lon Ranch. She didn’t have a problem in the world. She thought it was just a game.

The rich girl’s smile finally turned downward. “I say. Do you know who I am?”

“No,” said Malon, returning to her work. It was very clear by the shape of her ‘No’ that she didn’t care either.

The rich girl threw back her shoulders, head held high even though it was flushed with anger and embarrassment. “I’m the princess of Hyrule.”

Malon’s heart sank. “Of course you are,” she mumbled. Crap. She’d screwed up big time. As if Lon Lon Ranch needed more trouble. But her bruised pride continued to throb, and she refused to back down to this pompous brat…

“What was that?” Princess Zelda demanded.

“I said you still can’t milk the cow,” Malon huffed. “Your highness.”

“What’s with the attitude?”

“What’s with you? Wandering around where you don’t belong? Even a princess doesn’t belong everywhere. Your highness.”

Zelda’s frown deepened. “No one’s ever talked to me that way before.”

“Maybe not to your face,” said Malon.

“Speak louder, I can’t hear you when you mutter to yourself.”

“I said maybe not to your face!”

Zelda’s face was redder than a strawberry, her jaw clenched, but there was this strange look in her eye suddenly, an oddly appraising look. She nodded, as if deciding on some private matter.

“Alright,” she said, bouncing on her heels as if trying to make herself even taller. “Fair enough.”

Malon glanced at her, every muscle tense. Was she for real?

Zelda petted the nose of the cow again, with a bit more vigor than necessary. “No one’s ever talked to me that way before,” she repeated.

Shame started eating at Malon’s insides. She’d put a lot of outside angers and frustrations on the princess’ shoulders, and after all she was a princess. This manifested as a refusal to look at the other girl, which probably didn’t help Malon’s case.

“Thank you,” Princess Zelda said suddenly.

Despite herself, Malon looked up, all other emotions falling to make way for confusion. “Excuse me?”

“I’m saying thank you. I think I needed to hear that.” Princess Zelda looked her dead in the eye, as if daring her to say otherwise.

“Maybe you did,” Malon said slowly, feeling small.

Princess Zelda nodded again, her eyes becoming distant. “I must speak to your father,” she murmured, and she turned on her heel and left the barn.

Malon’s heart sank further. For an indeterminable amount of time—it felt like an eternity—she sat in the dark barn and milked the cow, going through the motions even when the last drops of milk had already fallen. Then she just sat and stared ahead of her, going over her conversation with royalty in her head, and all the ways she royally screwed up.

Then in a great burst, Talon came running into the barn. Malon flinched as he ran to her and swept her up in an enormous, unexpected hug. He was crying and laughing at the same time.

“It’s a new beginning, girl!” he was saying, the words finally conforming in Malon’s befuddled brain. “It’s a new beginning! Lon Lon will rise again! Oh, my girl, we’re in the game again!”

He bounced and twirled as he hugged, dragging his daughter around the barn in strong arms, rattling her head. She finally stopped his frenetic celebration with her hands on his shoulders.

“What are you talking about, Dad?” she asked, eyes wide. Had he gone mad?

His face was red and smudged with tears and he was beaming almost too big for his face, teeth big and crooked. “The ranch, Malon!” he said. “She said she likes it so much, she’ll pay off all the debts immediately, with no loan or nothing! It’s for the economy she says. Oh, hogwash, whatever, the important thing is our troubles are over!” He laughed, a huge guffaw that almost shook dust from the rafters.

The relief was too sudden to quite forge through all the years of anxiety that had piled up in Malon’s chest. She didn’t quite know how to feel, and even as the realization of what had happened began to dawn on her, it seemed too surreal to possibly be true.

“Who’s ‘she’?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“The one and only Princess Zelda!” Talon crowed. “She came right here to Lon Lon, marched into the house, bought some milk, and said she’d pay much more than the 10 rupees. Said she’d pay the difference to get Lon Lon back on its feet. It’s an act of royal kindness, girl! Thank the goddesses!”

Then he hugged her again, and everything was twirling and rattling again, and all the while Malon had one thought above all others.

What the hell?

 

 

It was remarkable how quickly Lon Lon Ranch jumped back onto its feet with a bit of money. They got more cows, they got horses, they fixed the roof on the barn. It was a miracle, one which rested heavily on Malon’s heart.

Then one day, as Malon was throwing feed for the newly acquired cucoos, Princess Zelda reappeared, wrapped in another slightly darker shawl, in another fancy dress. She bypassed the house and Talon, the barn, the horse pens, and walked straight to Malon. Malon saw her coming the entire time and stiffened, focusing intently on the cucoos.

“Hello,” the princess said from behind her.

“Hello,” said Malon, not turning around.

There was a long, clucking silence.

“I guess I should thank you,” Malon said slowly.

“You don’t sound like you want to,” said Zelda.

Malon straightened, running her fingers through the cucoo feed in the basket she carried.

“No,” she said abruptly. “I don’t want to.”

She could imagine Zelda rolling her eyes. “And why’s that, Miss Attitude?”

“We don’t need your charity, your highness,” Malon said stiffly. “I don’t know what you’re on about, making us into your little project. But this is our ranch, not your toy. Just because you can throw around money doesn’t mean we owe you anything. We have our pride, you know.”

She turned to glower at the princess, but instead her eyebrows wound up shooting up under her bangs. Princess Zelda was smiling, a hard smile but a smile nonetheless.

“Yes,” Zelda said. “I suppose I deserved that as well…”

Malon’s intended scowl came out full force. “I don’t understand you,” she said, hating how petulant she sounded.

“I don’t understand you,” said Zelda. “That’s the whole point. I’m the princess of Hyrule. I don’t know what it’s like to work every day for something. And you told me off about it. Nobody has ever done that before.”

Her gaze scanned the ranch, taking it in, as if impressed by something. Malon shuffled her feet.

“I like you,” Zelda finished. “That’s why I helped you. I’m sorry. I did something again without thinking.”

Malon shook her head. “Are you a masochist or something?”

Zelda’s smile melted into something softer and with teeth, a shining grin that brightened her entire face, and Malon’s breath did this annoying thing where it caught in her throat and sat like a bubble above her pounding heart.

“Maybe I am,” said Zelda cheerfully. “But I like you is what I’m saying. I’d like us to be friends if you’d let me.”

She held out a hand and all Malon could do was stare at it for a second. Instead of shaking it, she took a handful of cucoo feed and poured it into Zelda’s palm.

“You said you wanted to milk cows,” she said, blushing. “Well, I bet you’ve never fed cucoos either…” She demonstrated, throwing out the feed for the birds (which had grown irritable at their neglect during the conversation).

Something twinkled in Zelda’s eyes, those eyes that were so terribly blue, and Malon had a feeling of being in a lot of trouble, trouble of an entirely different kind.

Zelda threw cucoo feed, scooped out more liberally from Malon’s basket, and they spent the afternoon that way, making their hands smell like grain.

 

 

Zelda visited often, at least once or twice a week. Malon thought she really must not have anything to do at the castle, which made it all that much easier to put her to work on the ranch. Malon always had some chore for her to do when she visited, and Zelda seemed to relish it, this ability to be normal and productive and get her hands dirty. Malon slowly began to pity her rather than envy her. She decided that all princesses must be a little crazy.

Zelda was quite beautiful, especially when she began to forgo her scarves and let her hair fall free like Malon’s. They braided one another’s hair once, and it became a routine, Malon showing Zelda how to pile hair on top of her head to keep it out of the way while they worked, and then how to free it again when they were finished, sweaty and tired in the cool evening. Zelda was only a few months older than Malon, and the two of them quickly developed a rapport.

They invented games of “I can catch more cucoos than you” or horse races. Zelda was a better rider than Malon, having grown up alongside royal thoroughbreds. She always won the races or other riding games, except for times when Malon won but those times Malon always thought the princess let her win. When Zelda began bragging of her growing muscles, they started arm wrestling matches. These Malon always won, except for the times she let Zelda win. Zelda brought Malon books which Malon, never much of a reader, only read for Zelda’s sake. Her favorites were fairy tales, particularly ones with romances, a knight in shining armor wooing a princess in the night, under willow trees. Malon always had the freshest fruits and tastiest snacks available for Zelda when she knew she was coming, sometimes even making pancakes for a hearty breakfast if Zelda gave enough of an advance warning. The girls grew up like this, side by side, in a strange convergent world of their own making.

On the eve of Zelda’s eighteenth birthday, Malon insisted that Zelda sneak out to Lon Lon Ranch in the night, for a private party before the larger celebration that all of Castle Town would put on the next day. Zelda arrived on her horse—one personally selected from Lon Lon Ranch despite her father’s pressure to choose one of the royal thoroughbreds—and Malon immediately accosted her at the front gate to wrestle a blindfold on her.

“Charming,” Zelda said dryly as Malon tied up her horse for her and began leading her into the ranch. It was a cool summer evening, the sun just set so that the whole world still had a faint orange-ish feeling to it, a strange quality of light that was not quite dark but not quite daylight either. The earliest stars and planets were twinkling already, but there were still many more to come, until the black night was laced with swirlings and twinklings of starlight, unimpeded by the light pollution of Castle Town. Malon led Zelda all the way across the ranch, past the horse pens, to the single storage tower at the opposite side.

“My feet are getting tired,” Zelda said, but Malon knew she was only trying to goad her. Zelda was made of tougher stock than that.

“Perfect, because we’re here,” said Malon, opening the storage tower door. She pushed Zelda inside first, the princess’ shoes tapping on the stone floor. “You can look now.”

With delicate fingers, Zelda removed the blindfold and slowly took in a long breath. The tiny room was rustic to be sure, but Malon had removed the old boxes and jugs and replaced them with flowers, wildflowers knit into garlands that hung from the walls, fancier roses and daffodils bought from stores in town that sat in vases on the floor. Three empty crates were arranged into two seats and a table, and on the table sat an absurdly tall cake, so tall it was lopsided and in danger of falling over. It had strawberry icing, a nod to Zelda’s deep love for strawberry on her pancakes.

Malon placed a crown made of flowers on Zelda’s head, setting it upon her pointed ears. “Your highness,” Malon said with a deep bow, something she hadn’t called Zelda in years. She pulled aside one of the seat-crates as if pulling out a chair and gestured Zelda eagerly to sit.

“It’s gorgeous in here,” Zelda breathed, sitting and blinking at the lantern set on the crate-table. It sent flickering orange light throughout the room, making the flowers feel gilded and unreal.

With a self-satisfied smile, Malon got to work cutting the cake and serving it on small, chipped plates. “It’s not much, but it’s what I can give you,” she said, waiting eagerly for Zelda to take her first bite. Zelda did and her eyes sparked blue and radiant.

“It’s better than pancakes,” Zelda said, meaning it as the utmost compliment.

They sat and ate, with much laughter and good cheer. Zelda couldn’t seem to stop smiling, which made Malon smile instinctively, until her cheeks hurt from it. They hardly made a dent in the cake but all the laughter and loud talking made their mouths dry until they couldn’t eat any more anyway. Malon had forgotten drinks. They laughed about that also.

As Malon clumsily packed up the remaining cake in a box for Zelda to take with her, Zelda reached across the crate-table and placed a hand on Malon’s wrist.

“Thank you,” she said. She’d said thank you a lot already, but this one held an extra weight for some reason.

Malon smiled, a somewhat smaller smile now that she was so smile-fatigued but one that reflected all of the weight of Zelda’s thanks nonetheless.

Zelda averted her eyes a moment, and in the lanternlight they glistened wetly. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Malon,” she said, “there’s something I’ve been keeping from you.”

A strange heat rose up Malon’s neck. What was she expecting exactly? Whatever it was, it became very apparent to Malon that Zelda still hadn’t let go of her wrist. Malon abandoned the cake box and reached out to hold Zelda’s hands. Zelda did a quick, lopsided smile, then bit her lip again.

“I can’t come to Lon Lon Ranch any more,” Zelda said.

The heat in Malon’s face immediately went cold. This was not what she was expecting at all.

“What the hell?” she asked, laughing slightly, but Zelda’s face told her this wasn’t a joke.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda said, her voice breaking on the last syllable, her face crumpling into tears. She jerked her hands towards herself as if to cover her face, but Malon refused to let go of them, clasping her hands tightly, unwilling to give up that warmth.

“What are you on about?” Malon asked, trying to be soothing even as an ugly sort of panic was coiling in her stomach.

“Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday,” Zelda said wretchedly. “Tomorrow I’m an adult. I’m to be betrothed and begin my duties as the princess of Hyrule.” Her jaw clenched and she added, her voice far too hollow to believe the words: “I can’t play games here anymore.”

Malon shook her head, without quite knowing what she was disagreeing with. She interlaced their fingers, bitterly proud of the callouses on the princess’ hands, callouses that told the truth of who she really was.

Malon wanted to say something, anything. Tell Zelda every secret she could think of. But she knew nothing would be able to trump duty. So she said nothing, her face carefully blank.

Without the ability to wipe her face, Zelda’s cheeks were streaked with two twin lines of tears, the only tears she would allow. She sniffed loudly, and for a long moment they sat holding hands like that, not saying anything and not quite looking at one another.

Eventually, Zelda murmured that she should go, that it was getting late. The fact that she had a big day tomorrow went unsaid.

Malon made sure Zelda didn’t refuse the cake, and in the doorway of the storage tower Zelda stood on her way out holding the box to her chest and looking, for the first time Malon had ever seen, very small. Malon wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. Reach out to Zelda? Make fists in her own skirts? Her arms just hung stupidly at her sides and she felt horribly inadequate and dumb. Zelda had grown into the eternally beautiful princess of Hyrule, and here Malon stood blotchy-faced and snub-nosed and red-headed and gap-toothed… The convergence of their world was quietly pulling apart.

Zelda just stood there for a long time. Then she took a few slow steps closer to Malon until they were almost touching. Malon had an instinct to step back, but instead she lifted her chin, held her head high. And Zelda kissed her. Malon had always liked imagining her first kiss, usually with some sort of made-up knight in shining armor under willows or someplace equally picturesque. She never imagined, however, the softness of another person’s lips, or the intimacy of softness meeting softness, even for a moment.

When Zelda pulled back, she planted another kiss on Malon’s cheek, firm and final.

Then she took a deep stuttering breath, turned around, and left.

Malon didn’t watch her go. She sat again on one of the crates, her lips burning.

It was too easy, love. Malon hadn’t even known it was there until it had broken her heart.

 

 

Malon slept in the tower, and when she trudged back to the house for breakfast the next morning, her hair was a mess and dark circles sunk like bruises under her eyes. Talon had the bad sense to have pancakes waiting for her, and Malon sat and stared at her pancakes and strawberry preserves with a scowl.

Talon, however, didn’t ask about Zelda, despite knowing his daughter’s birthday schemes. It was like he already knew what had happened, even as if he knew something Malon didn’t, and she resented him fiercely if only because he was the most readily available and safest person to hate.

After a silent, unfilling breakfast, he finally cleared his throat for her attention.

“The celebration in Castle Town will be starting soon,” he said gently. “It’s always one of our best selling days. Will you bring the milk cart to town as usual?”

His gentleness frustrated her as well. Instead of answering, Malon pushed her chair back and cleared her place.

She went upstairs to her room to change clothes. In the mirror she glared at herself critically, this short, muscular girl with small breasts and chubby, red cheeks. She put on a white dress and a purple apron, her typical style, and then paused before choosing a yellow kerchief to tie around her neck. The kerchief was old and re-sewn and tattered at the edges, but it had belonged to her dead mother once upon a time. It had been a gift to a child that would grow to barely remember the giver.

(She recalled a conversation with Zelda. A year ago, as they sat on the newly reinforced roof of the barn to watch the sunset after a long day, they somehow came to confess to one another that neither had grown up with a mother in their life. Malon’s mother had died when she was very young, Zelda’s in childbirth. Neither of them had cried, both being quite frank and open, and yet Zelda had rested her head on Malon’s shoulder and stayed that way for the rest of the evening.)

She returned downstairs, where Talon was waiting for her, wringing his hands in an uncharacteristic show of nervousness.

When she awkwardly tried to get out the door around him, he pulled her into an unexpected bear hug. “My girl,” he said, planting a fuzzy mustached kiss on her cheek. “Whatever you choose to do, I’ll support you.”

Malon bit her lip and nodded. She wasn’t sure what exactly Talon could mean, but she kissed his cheek in return, clutching her mother’s kerchief around her neck as she pushed out the door. The milk cart was waiting for her by the side of the house.

 

 

Castle Town was always packed, but today in particular it seemed Malon could barely take one step without knocking into someone, let alone maneuver her milk cart through the crowd. Everyone was congregating in the square, where the king was due to make a big announcement.

Malon finally managed to wrestle her way within viewing distance of the stage that had been set in the center of the square, still having to stand on tiptoes to see over the heads in front of her, but she had a decent view of the dais from which the king would give his speech. Everywhere in the air was the incessant sound of chatter and gossip, coming in waves of clashing noise so that Malon could barely distinguish one voice from another. Then great brass horns pierced through the chaos and the voices gave way to applause. The king’s procession had arrived.

Malon’s heart began thumping in her head. There, at the head of the procession, was King Daltus IV in a red robe, and standing at his side as his equal was Princess Zelda. She was wearing a dress in pinks and whites—her usual fashion—but gilded in extravagant jewels, sapphires and emeralds inlaid in shining silver hanging from her neck and wrists, woven into the very fabric of her skirts. Her crown shone atop her ears, her face exposed and proud, and Malon couldn’t help but realize how homely her little flower crown had been just last night.

The royal family mounted the stage, as well as a few decorated members of the royal guard, and King Daltus stood at the dais, raising his hands for silence. As the king commanded, so the people of Hyrule obeyed.

Zelda stood proud, not quite looking at the crowd but rather over it, as if seeing something only her own status could reveal.

“Citizens of Hyrule,” the king’s voice boomed. “Thank you for joining us today on this most precious of occasions. Today, my daughter, your princess, turns eighteen years old, and becomes a woman.”

More applause, and Malon watched as Zelda smiled humbly.

“In this time of peace and prosperity, I have decided to uphold a most sacred and honored tradition, one which Hyrule has not seen in many generations,” the king continued. “The Hyrule royal family has been predicated on the appreciation of character, the quality and equality of our people. It is not right that the noble family should be so distanced from the other classes. And so, I have ruled to reinstate the Marriage Trials.”

A whisper ran through the crowd, but the information went right over Malon’s head.

“In earlier times, even in the time of my namesake King Daltus I, the people of Hyrule and the noble class competed side by side in a variety of games, tests of courage and skill. One such game was the Marriage Trial, where men from all walks of life came forward to compete for the right to marry the crown princess of Hyrule. The idea behind this was that the royal bloodline should not be composed simply of money and power, but of courage and strength of will and character. To that end, on this day of Princess Zelda XV’s adulthood, I am here to announce the commencement of a new Marriage Trial. Come forward, anyone eligible and willing!”

There was a silence in the crowd, as no one quite seemed sure that the king’s announcement was serious. At this point, Princess Zelda herself stepped forward.

“The contest will be difficult and dangerous,” she said. “It will be composed of five challenges which will test the strength of the men involved. But I reiterate what my father has said: anyone can join for the right to the crown and my hand. Today on my birthday, let the shackles of class fall, and let us stand side by side as brothers.”

A cheer rang up, and then people were scrambling to the stage, all eager to announce their participation in the trial. Indeed men from all walks of life stepped forward. Old men, young men, rich men, poor men. And Malon watched dumbfouded, her heart still hammering.

“All who will participate, come forward!” the king called again, as the surge of men rushed forward.

Zelda watched them with a firm smile in place, but even from this distance Malon could see that that smile wasn’t entirely honest. Oh, it was a good lie. Only someone who knew Zelda the way Malon knew her would realize that Zelda’s smiles were supposed to be much less formal. They were supposed to dimple her cheeks and show the tips of her front teeth; they were supposed to predate a laugh. But this smile was composed of honor and duty. It was a strong smile, but it was not happy. There was no happiness at all in the princess’ face.

Later Malon would think that was what swayed her decision. Right now, though, it was as if her legs had minds of their own. She abandoned her milk cart for the ability to more easily squeeze her way through the crowd.

“Is there anyone more?” King Daltus asked, already surrounded by a throng of suitors. “Would anyone else fight for my daughter’s hand?”

“I will!” Malon cried, raising her hand.

It felt like a thousand eyes fell on her at once. She had just now wrestled her way to the front of the crowd, and stumbled into the edge of the stage, staring up at the king with her chin held high.

King Daltus stared in bafflement, and another silence fell in the crowd, this one unsure and awkward. Zelda looked as if her eyes were about to fall out of her head.

Malon tried to swallow this lump in her throat where her heartbeat was thudding. “I would like to sign up,” she said.

Then the whispers came. The gossip started. Malon ignored the crowd and met the king’s gaze.

King Daltus stroked his white beard. He considered a moment, jaw working. Then he nodded. And, as if nothing strange had happened, he turned back to the crowd and called, “Are these all of the participants?”

Malon’s head spun. She had been accepted. Despite the odd looks and the leering of the male suitors, she had been accepted. She was a part of this challenge.

She looked to Zelda, trying to meet her gaze, but Zelda was looking at her feet, her face dusting pink. Had Malon made the right choice? It hadn’t even felt like a choice. It had felt like an inevitability.

Consumed by doubt, she mounted the stage along with the rest of the suitors and stood facing the crowd. It had grown strangely silent, and no other suitors came forward. There were still eyes staring at her; it was like she couldn’t look into the crowd without accidentally meeting someone’s gaze. 

With her heart pounding, Malon gritted her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest, standing before the crowd with her mother’s kerchief tickling her chin.

She would prove them wrong.

If it was inevitable that she would join this competition, it was also her fate to win it. That decision she did make.

The horn blew again, signaling the end of the call for competitors. The competition had begun.


End file.
